He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve seen so much trauma in my career. Atrocities committed by the worst humanity has to offer. I’ve delved deep into the minds of the most depraved predators. People who hunt children.” His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “You do that long enough, and the darkness in their souls gets smeared all over yours.”
Now that he’d started, he seemed to want to get it all out. She didn’t interrupt, absorbing his words, trying to see herself from his perspective.
“I read your file in preparation for your psych eval,” he said. “The applicant investigator included the case report from your abduction as well as police photographs and ER reports documenting the abuse you suffered in the system before you were kidnapped.” His eyes bored into hers. “And how you came to get those scars on your back.” He extended a hand as if to touch her shoulder, seemed to think better of it, and dropped his arm back to his side. “And the circumstances that forced you to run away from the group home.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t reconcile that with the person I saw before me in the interview room. I was hard on you. I tried to burrow down to see what was beneath that professional exterior.”
“You thought I was a ticking time bomb who might explode under the right kind of pressure?”
“I’m sorry, Nina,” he said. “I realize now there was something I failed to consider. A trait we psychologists don’t have the luxury to study as much as we do disorders, neuroses, and coping mechanisms. You have more of it than anyone I have ever personally examined.” He looked at her as if she were a rare specimen. “Resilience.”
“Resilience,” she said, tasting the word.
“Human beings are capable of unfathomable cruelty and immense strength. You have not only survived—you have thrived.” His voice grew thick. “I’ve followed your career since you came on. I’ll admit that I was waiting for you to snap. Go off the rails. I’m not proud that a small part of me wanted vindication. Instead, you proved me wrong. You’ve been an asset to the Bureau.”
She glanced down, uncomfortable with accolades. Wade wasn’t done yet, it seemed.
“And you’ve been invaluable to this investigation,” he went on. “You were the one who spotted the first message on the dumpster in that alley in DC. You figured out the Boston clue before anyone else, and you could have called Buxton to take the credit, but you called me first. That’s what a partner does. You stuck up for me when Buxton wanted to boot me off the case on the plane yesterday. Now it’s my turn to do the same for you.”
She raised her head to meet his gaze. He had confronted her with a challenge. Could she face the monster as the world watched, knowing everyone had seen her humiliation and pain? More importantly, could she face herself if she didn’t?
Chapter 28
Nina pushed through the door to the task force area, Wade on her heels as she strode inside the expansive room. A hive of activity greeted her. Agents clustered in groups, bending over spreadsheets, turning pages in file folders, and tapping on keyboards. She glanced up and sucked in a breath. The oversize monitor on the far wall’s screen was split into four quadrants, each with a different freeze frame from the video. One was an image of the Cipher, his large figure cloaked except for a gloved hand clutching a lit cigarette. Another was a close-up of the girl’s left wrist, secured to the metal corner pole with nylon rope.
She halted, transfixed. First, one agent noticed her and elbowed the person next to him. That agent nudged another. Gradually, silence spread through the room like a virus, silencing all discussion, bringing all work to a halt.
Buxton was on his cell phone in the corner. As soon as he saw her, he muttered something into the phone and disconnected. Sliding the device into a clip on his belt, he stepped toward her. “My office.”
She followed him down the corridor, Wade’s steady footfalls behind her.
Buxton walked past the admin assistant, who quickly looked down at her keyboard as Nina walked by.
She’d better get used to that kind of reaction.
“Come in and close the door,” Buxton said, then frowned as he looked over her shoulder. “I want to speak to Agent Guerrera alone.”
She turned to see not only Wade but also Breck and Kent following her into the temporary executive office.
“We’re with her,” Kent said.
Breck nodded.
Buxton raised a questioning brow at Nina.
“I’d like them to stay,” she said.
“Fine.” Buxton treaded to the same table where they had watched the video. They each took a seat.
He addressed Nina. “Agent Guerrera, as you’ve probably guessed, I read your case file before taking you on a temp assignment in the BAU. I had to be aware of everything that happened in your background regarding the Cipher.” He drew in a deep breath. “What I read in that file was . . . disturbing, to say the least. What you have gone through, what you have suffered, no one should have to deal with, much less a sixteen-year-old girl.”
She simply nodded. What could she say?
“As your supervisor, I am concerned about your health and well-being, both emotionally and physically. Now that the public has seen the video, I would be remiss if I didn’t also acknowledge the impact it will have on this investigation. How will you manage to conduct interviews and deal with media at crime scenes?”
She moved to head him off. “Sir, I—”
He held up a hand. “While you and Agent Wade were outside, I’ve spent the last hour dealing with the fallout from that video, which went viral.” His lip curled in disgust. “Public Affairs has been bombarded with media requests. I advised Cyber Crime to contact all major social media platforms with a request to shut down the Cipher’s accounts. The feed is no longer accessible through any of his profiles, but it’s been downloaded and reposted so many times that it’s still out there for anyone who wants to watch it.” His features hardened. “At least we managed to stop the bastard before he reached the thousand likes he demanded in order to show the next sixty seconds.”
Relief blossomed, then wilted in Nina’s chest. She had now escaped the Cipher twice. Clearly bent on revenge, he would probably share the rest of the video anyway.
Buxton continued in a grave tone. “The Director called me personally. He made it clear that we have his full support, including unfettered access to all resources.”
She was equal parts touched by the Director’s interest in her and mortified to realize that he, too, had seen the video.
“I assured him you would only continue on this case in an advisory capacity,” Buxton said. “And that you would no longer be out in the field.”
Anger, simmering close to the surface since the video, bubbled up in a hot rush. “Did you decide to bench me out of concern for my welfare, or have I become an embarrassment?”
She recalled the mantra drummed into her from the day she joined the FBI. Don’t embarrass the Bureau. Some minor transgressions could be overlooked, but not that.
Buxton’s eyes widened. “Agent Guerrera, I take it that you are understandably distressed, otherwise, I might have to conclude that you are being disrespectful.”
It would do no good to alienate the supervisory special agent. Nina drew in a long breath, dialing back her frustration. “Sir, what I need most right now is to continue working with my team to apprehend the Cipher.” She deliberately chose not to say the man who did this to me, hoping to create the impression of professional detachment where there was none.
Buxton did not appear mollified. “Every interview you conduct, people will have that image in their minds. The public will focus on you personally rather than answering your questions. Agents must be perceived as objective. That’s not possible for you.”
She tried to portray her liability as an asset. “We have a whole team of people who can be objective. We need someone who can be completely subjective. Someone who’s had direct experience with the Cipher.”
Wade cleared his throat. “Sir, if I may?”
At Buxton’s nod, he pleaded her case. “The video proves there are certain things Agent Guerrera repressed. Through no fault of her own, there are details she cannot recall, but I’m confident they will come back to her if she’s involved in the investigation directly. I recommend she stay on the team.”
She wasn’t sure she appreciated how he’d defended her. Why had he brought up the gaps in her memory? Was he trying to help her cause or hurt it? “What did I supposedly repress?”
“You never mentioned that he called you a throwaway,” he said. “That’s important information.”
What had been a distorted series of recollections she now saw through the Cipher’s eyes because of the video. Fragments of images flooded back, a tidal wave overwhelming her, forcing her gaze down.
She recalled the police officer asking her for details after she’d escaped. Her entire body trembled as she revealed the sickening chain of events. But she’d been too ashamed to repeat the word he had called her.
Throwaway.
After a while, the memory faded, helped by her willful desire to push it down into the dark, bottomless well that held her worst moments.
“That term has meaning for him,” Wade said. “He used it several times in the video. No one who investigated your case back then knew he called you that. Do you see the significance of that word?”
She glanced up at him. “Back at the scene of the first murder in DC, you suspected the unsub knew about my background before he took me that night.” She made it a statement.
“Sofia Garcia-Figueroa was found in a dumpster,” he said. “I assessed the facts at hand and arrived at a logical conclusion.”
And she had argued against that conclusion because she didn’t want to believe it. If the Cipher knew she’d been left in a dumpster as an infant, that meant he had gotten a great deal of sensitive information about her, so much that he’d possibly played a role in her life. She groped for another explanation. “Maybe he believes girls are disposable. He uses them and throws them out like garbage.” She tapped her chest lightly. “Not me personally but all girls.”
“Then everything else about Sofia’s murder was orchestrated specifically for you, but the site he chose for the body was a coincidence?”
She had to come to terms with the possibility that Wade had been right all along. Her mind shifted into analytical mode. “How would he know about my past?”
“Exactly.” Wade stroked his jaw. “They investigated this all wrong, looking for some random stranger who grabbed you eleven years ago. What if he wasn’t a stranger or random? What if he knew you? Targeted you?”
“I didn’t even know I was going to run away until I did it,” she murmured, lost in contemplation. “How would he know?”
“According to your statement at the time, you’d been on the street for several days when he took you,” Wade said. “Maybe he was hunting for you. He was obsessed, and apparently, still is.”
She didn’t feel like a warrior now. A deep sense of shame had held back the word that might have made a difference. At sixteen, she hadn’t understood how the police worked a case, hadn’t known how seemingly insignificant details could provide a trove of useful information for a sharp detective. What if that one clue could have sent the investigation in a different direction eleven years ago? Four days ago? Would thirty-six innocent girls still be alive now?
Worst of all, she suspected she hadn’t told the police what he’d called her because part of her believed he was right. No one wanted her. That much had been proven time and again. She was a throwaway, as worthless as the trash she’d been tossed into.
How would others see her from now on? Would they only see the scars she could no longer hide?
The Cipher wanted her back in that place. The terrified girl in the video. Alone, humiliated, helpless. He chose victims he thought were unworthy of life. He’d stolen a part of her, changed her forever, but he would not take any more from her. Or from anyone else. She would be the one who stopped him.
Slowly, she lifted her chin and directed her gaze at Buxton. “Sir, I have the best chance of finding this unsub. And I’ve got to be out in the field to do it.” She spread her hands. “Sidelining me won’t work. The Cipher will keep dragging me back into this.”
“He’s obsessed with Agent Guerrera,” Kent said, speaking for the first time. “He won’t just forget about her.”
“I’m not going to hide behind my desk hoping he doesn’t find me.”
“She’s right,” Wade said. “Sooner or later, he’ll come after her directly. Which is why she has to stay on the case.”
She waited, allowing Buxton to reconsider his position.
“You’ve been through more than any agent I’ve heard of,” Buxton finally said. “I have to know whether you can deal with what’s coming. Because things are about to get exponentially uglier.”
She straightened. “I can handle anything he throws at me.”
“It’s not just the Cipher.” Buxton looked skeptical. “It’s the other agents and the public. This kind of scrutiny is . . . unprecedented in the Bureau.”
Wade cleared his throat. “I’ve dealt with my share of public and internal scrutiny,” he said. “She’s my partner.” He tipped his head toward her. “I’ve got her six.”
She had prepared to face the blowback from the video alone, the way she’d dealt with most things in her life. Now, she had Dr. Jeffrey Wade—psychologist, special agent, and self-proclaimed asshole—by her side.
“So do I,” Kent said.
“Me too,” Breck added.
Silence filled the room. Nina had to stop her foot from jiggling under the table as she waited for her supervisor to arrive at his decision.
Buxton blew out a long sigh. “I’ll have to make another round of phone calls.” He gave her an assessing look. “You can stay on the team.” His gaze moved around the table. “You’re dismissed.”
They stood to leave. As they were filing out the door, Nina turned to see Buxton pick up the phone on his desk. For a fleeting moment, she caught the ghost of a smile on his lined face.
Chapter 29
Nina goosed the sleek black Tahoe, pulling around a slow-moving pickup truck before the road resolved into a single lane. “Can’t believe Sorrentino lives this far out from the District. The commute has to be terrible.”
“He’s a creature of the night,” Wade said from the passenger seat beside her. “Works odd hours. Mostly late afternoon until two in the morning. Rush hour isn’t a factor for him.”
She glanced at the clock on the dash. “He probably doesn’t leave before noon, so he should still be home.” Wade grunted his assent as she turned onto a side street.
They had opted not to give Sorrentino a call to set up a meeting, preferring to catch him off guard and away from his club. A calculated gamble.
She’d thanked Wade for backing her up with Buxton, including his request to proceed with the plan to interview the fight club owner with her. They had spent the next hour before heading out researching one Joseph Thomas Sorrentino, who gave every indication of being crooked enough to screw his socks on.
She knew the type. Always looking for a fast buck, always cutting corners, and most importantly, always willing to sell out a friend if the need arose.
She slowed, scanning the addresses, until she pulled in front of a modest two-story colonial-style house set behind a row of bedraggled azaleas in the middle of a patchy lawn. She turned onto the cracked cement driveway and threw the SUV into park.
“I’ll follow your lead,” she said. “You’ve interviewed him before.”
“I’m not too optimistic,” Wade said. “He knows a hell of a lot more than he admitted to last time.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the driver’s door. “How much are we going to tell him? He’s bound to have questions.”
“As little as possible.”
They traipsed over broken flagstones, ending at a stained concrete slab that passed for a fro
nt porch. Nina rang the bell, setting off a cacophony of high-pitched yapping inside.
The door creaked open about two inches. A woman in her sixties wearing a pink chenille robe and brown slippers squinted out at them. “I don’t want any.”
She started to close the door, but Nina stuck her foot in and held up her creds. “Special Agent Nina Guerrera, FBI. We need to speak to Joseph Sorrentino, is he home?”
The woman’s watery eyes narrowed as she studied the identification, then she cracked a wide grin and let out a cackle loud enough to startle her three tiny dogs into silence. “I knew it!” She turned her head to call out behind her. “Joe, get your ass down here. It’s the FBI. What the hell have you done this time?”
Nina and Wade exchanged a glance. Apparently, Joe’s wife was not the type to cover for him.
“Let me put the dogs away,” she said abruptly and slammed the door in their faces.
Nina turned to Wade. “You don’t think he’s leaving out the back door, do you?”
He gave her a wry smile. “His wife would snitch him out if he tried.”
Sounds of yipping dogs and shuffling feet emanated from behind the closed door before it finally opened. She recognized Sorrentino from his driver’s license photo. Heavyset, with a bulbous nose set in a fleshy face, he surveyed them from beneath bushy gray brows.
“You,” he said by way of greeting, addressing Wade. “I got nothing more to say to you.”
Apparently, Wade had made an impression. Or perhaps a visit from the FBI had stuck in Sorrentino’s mind.
“Can we come in, Mr. Sorrentino?” Wade asked.
Sorrentino looked as if he dearly wanted to slam the door in their faces but seemed to think better of it. He stepped back. “May as well.”
They followed him into a cluttered kitchen and stood by while he shoved a stack of papers and a withered houseplant aside to make room at the kitchen table. A dead spider skidded off the side, plopping into a doggy water bowl on the floor.
Sorrentino motioned for them to sit with his beefy arm but did not go so far as to offer a glass of water. Just as well. No way would she drink anything he handed her.
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